Come As My Betrothed
by Lauryn Vi
Summary: Every SOTL fan remembers that line. We remember Alanna's obstinate refusal. Why? Written in response to a TP challenge - dreams, nightmares, and fears.[One-shot]


Disclaimer: The plotline is mine – everything else belongs to Tamora Pierce.

Written in response to challenge #11 at the Tamora Pierce Fan Fiction Challenge. Dreams/ Nightmares/ Fears.

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She was alone.

Her feet dragged with every tedious step that carried her forwards, navigating her across dry and barren land. A golden crown picked out with amethysts sat on her brow – a heavy burden. Weariness and hunger coursed through her body as she struggled on. Her tongue was coated with dust and residue, and her parched throat screamed for water. She began to shiver, even as the sun beat down upon her weak form.

But was she alone? Though blurry vision, she thought she could see figures approaching her. Some walked – staggering towards her, while other crawled, heaving their bodies behind them. Men…women… young children – all with blank, wide eyes, their skin raw with blisters from the biting sun. With wailing voices, their claw-like hands snatched at her tunic as she tottered forwards.

They had surrounded her, their thin bodies pressed against hers. Hands groped towards her, searchingly, desperately… She wanted to shrink back, away from their probing touches, but pride and dignity would not let her back down. She struggled on.

"Water…"

"You promised to bring water…"

"We are dying, my Queen…"

"You lied to us… You cheated us…"

_No!_ She tried to protest, warding off their prying fingers with dying strength. _No! I am not your Queen… I made no such promise…_

"You will kill us…"

Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, as she bit her lips in grief. She was helpless. _I do not have water… nothing is mine to give…_

_There is nothing left…_

The wrath of the sun bored down on them, preying, scouring with unseen eyes.

_Nothing._

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Coolness pricked her skin as the dark shadow loomed over her. She did not know where she was, but she recognized him. He was the one that had always come to her after she had overdone her Gift. He had taunted her in the Chamber of Ordeal, showing her the ones she loved in his keeping. She had seen him with the Goddess; she had seen him when she rescued Jon from his clutches.

The Black God.

Although there was no breeze, his cloak fluttered with perpetual motion. It hid his face, but she could hear his deep, serene voice clearly.

"They are dying, Alanna."

In her mind, she saw them, clutching at her, pleading… begging for her to bring them water, to save them from a horrible death. She felt the cruelty of the sun searing around her, making her skin tingle with heat. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her throat stuck as she tried to speak.

"You have broken your promise. You have failed to live up to your duty as the Queen of Tortall."

"I was never the Queen of Tortall." She hissed in a voice of dead calm. It betrayed none of her fears, her anger – none of her sorrow.

"You wear a crown, do you not?"

The weight of her crown pressed down upon her shoulders, arduous and burdensome, growing heavier and heavier as she stood. The very amethysts burned into her vision, goading at her weakness. She felt fury surge at her helplessness.

_"You promised to bring water…"_

"There is nothing I can do. The lands are parched and dying. I am no God! You are! You serve the people, why don't you bring them water?!"

"I can, Alanna. It is easy for me to bring the lush meadows and tumbling brooks back into existence, if that is what you wish. " He spoke slowly, and she felt his unseen eyes pass over her intently, boring into her soul. "But because it was your failure, I must ask for something in return. A life, for the lives of Tortall."

She stared at his cloak. In it, she saw Corus under the morning light – a Corus green with growing grass, leafy trees - filled with the voices and laughter of healthy commoners.

It was her duty. Her life, or the lives of thousands of her people. Her life, or the lives of Myles, George, Gary, Raoul and Coram. Her life, or the life of Jonathan. Finally she spoke, but her voice was firm and resolute.

"I will give you my life, if you will spare my people."

He chuckled, his cloak rustling with his movements. "I know you do not fear your own death – but you misunderstood me, Alanna. I do not wish for your life, but the life of someone else. Someone you love above all other – who you would give anything to keep alive. Someone who you would give up your freedom in exchange for his love. You have rescued him from my clutches, once, and now all I ask is that you give him back."

"No…"

"You will give me the life of Jonathan of Conté, in a fair bargain for those of your people."

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Alanna of Trebond and Olau sat bolt upright in her bed, violet eyes wide, panting heavily. Beads of perspiration clung to her forehead, and her palms were moist with sweat. Copper hair hung in long, wet locks down her back.

Pale sunlight of an innocent dawn crept through the cracks in the flap of her tent. She stared down at the man beside her, sleeping with one hand flung protectively over her pillow. A smile transformed his stern face as she reached down and gently traced the strong jaw line of his face.

"No, Jon. I can never marry you. I will never let that happen."

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A/N Comments/ reviews?


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